A Certain Romance
by BringBackSummerRain
Summary: TV SHOW BASED. Chuck & Blair. Spoilers up to 1x03. R&R and I will love you!
1. Pilot

**A/N: I'm not sure if this has been done before but I had a sudden urge to write this and I had to get it out of my system. After re-watching the episodes a few times, I longed for a bit more CB interaction in the earlier episodes. So I decided to write an extra CB scene for every episode, starting with the pilot.**

**Stupid idea? Have some suggestions for me? Just review and tell me what you think. I'd really appreciate it.**

**And finally, I don't own Gossip Girl in any way, I'm simply expanding on other people's fabulous ideas, characters & plots.**

**Hope you like it!

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**Pilot**

She darts into the elevator with him as he leaves. On the surface, she is the picture of perfection. He darts a glance at her. Chocolate eye meets chocolate eye. The dewy depths of her pupils swim with insecurities and unwept tears.

"Waldorf?" He questions hesitantly, voice stilted from excessive scotch consumption. She is always the _perfect _hostess. But tonight, she has fled from her own soiree. From her _perfect_ boyfriend. And her _perfect_ life.

"Why is she back, Chuck?" Her question seeks no answer, just solace. Instinctively, his feet drag him towards her and somehow his arms lock themselves around her small frame. For a minute, she lets him hold her, feeling his heart beating in time with her own. In those brief moments, no words are needed. The air becomes comfortingly heavy with silence. The only noise is the robotic drone of the elevator mechanism. He shifts his weight onto his back foot, jolting his head forward slightly. As he does so, the embrace, which began as one friend comforting another, becomes awkward after their chins brush. Her fist pushes him away. He sighs almost inaudibly. Her moments of vulnerability never last long.

"She's going to ruin everything!" She declares, sweeping her fingers through her long, dark curls in agitation. Chuck merely leans against the cool wall of the elevator; thin lips twisting into his trademark smirk.

"Or maybe she'll just liven things up a bit," He counters, in a silken, languid tone, quickly wishing he'd never spoken after Blair shoots him a withering glower. The familiar "ting" of the elevator sounds, signaling that their journey has come to an end. As they exit, Blair turns to him angrily.

"I thought at least _you'd_ understand, Bass, even if no one else did." Since kindergarten, he's always understood her and her, him. He couldn't even remember when they'd begun plotting together, but it now felt unnatural to scheme without his female counterpart. They'd even orchestrated the beginning of her and Nate's relationship. If he'd have known then how his two best friends' relationship would have changed him, maybe he would've plotted differently. But it was already far too late for what ifs.

It's her turn to sigh. The release of air is followed by a pout. A couple pass by them to reach the lift and a bout of cold, November wind drafts through the foyer. She shivers in her lacy, black shift; a subtle crack in her icy demeanor. He remembers her teary eyes when she joined him earlier.

"Come on, Waldorf. With us two in control, how could anything go wrong?" She nods a muted response. He steps towards her, bending to try and catch her gaze. "You and Nate came out of that room pretty fast..."

Her head snaps up. Flashes of rage are radiating from her eyes. But that practiced smile is firmly in place. Blair Waldorf is always _perfectly_ polite. "I'm going back upstairs. There's only a certain amount of you I can take in one night. Goodnight, Chuck."

He watches as she stamps away from him. As the elevator doors slide to a close, that trademark smirk plays on his lips once more.


	2. The Wild Brunch

**TheWild Brunch**

_"I think you know what you need to do to get his attention." She took the key from his outstretched fingers. "Report back with details."_

_He couldn't rip his eyes away as she stumbled out of the room, lips firmly attached to those of his best friend._

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_"__I h__ope you're happy."_

_"Not even close."_

She stumbles out of the brunch, for the second time that day. But this time, without her boyfriend and without the feeling of happiness that accompanied him.

"Blair!" At the sound of her name, she turns to confront the sea-green eyes of her first love.

"You've said enough, Nate."

Her voice is monotonous. Her dark eyes betray her, brimming with familiar tears of hurt. He recognizes her tone. He should. This is merely the latest in his series of mistakes. He knows he needs to leave. And he does.

She watches his retreating back, barely feeling the warm hand on her elbow.

"Come on, let's get you a drink. It's never too early for a scotch."

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The bar is dark, ignoring the reality that it's barely noon and the skies of New York are bright with sunshine. She sips her martini and surveys him angrily over the curved rim.

"You could've told me."

He groans inwardly. Over the months since Serena's disappearance, he's thought about telling her. Regretted hiding it from her. But Nathaniel's his priority. On Chuck's private record of concerns, only three things make the list: money, the pleasures money can bring and his best friend. That's the way it's been for as long as he can remember. It's only at this moment, when he feels the stirrings of an uncomfortable emotion, that he considers altering that list. Searching for an answer to her blunt statement, he simultaneously recognizes the emotion.

Guilt. It's not something he feels very often.

"I could've. But with one half of the equation out of the picture, it seemed best to leave it up to Nathaniel."

She digests this slowly, swishing her drink around in circular motions, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. He finishes the last of his scotch and she follows suit with her own drink, never one to be left behind.

"Another drink, Waldorf? I think congratulations are in order, after all. Serena looked fairly devastated to lose her new _accessory_."

She nods at him, bitter smile firmly in place. "It wasn't enough, Chuck. She deserves to suffer for what she did." With a wave of his hand, full glasses replace empty ones.

"And Nate?" He's not sure why he bothers to ask. The answer is always the same.

"Nate? He'll say he's sorry and we'll work it out. He loves me." Chuck doesn't reply. She doesn't appear to require a response, anyway. He wonders how anyone could be _that_ confident. That's before he remembers the topic: Nate&Blair. In the fickle world of the Upper East Side, their relationship is the one guaranteed constant.

On cue, her orange enV phone buzzes. They share a knowing glance.

"Nate?" Her voice is now light and carefully carefree as she answers, after _just_ the right length of pause. "No, I'm not doing anything... I'm sorry too."

He signals for another scotch, although he is certain he will be drinking it without his brunette companion. The pattern is always the same; it's as predictable as the sun's daily rise and fall. He swivels on his stool, assessing the other customers. He spots two attractive blonds in the corner. _Perfect_.

She snaps her phone shut and beams at him. That beautiful, deluded smile.

"That was Nate. We're going to meet for coffee and work it out. Thanks for everything, Chuck." She fiddles absently with the small, ruby ring on her finger, before sliding gracefully off the stool. She leans over and plants a wet kiss on his cheek. It's over quickly and she is moving away from him in a pretty mess of dark hair and porcelain skin.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to repay me." He replies. But she's already gone. Her ears now deaf to anyone but Nathaniel.

Knocking back the rest of his scotch and her martini, he smirks hungrily at the two girls. _Let the games begin._

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**A/N: Lots of love goes to my lovely reviewers. The reviews make it all worthwhile. And to darkangel1910 and titicapotiti : as you can see, it's not just a one shot and I'm planning on doing all of the episodes. It will help me fill my time after the next episode until there's some new Gossip Girl to take over my life once more (although, the new season of One Tree Hill will help!).**

**R&R please!**


	3. Poison Ivy

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. I'm in the middle of exams so most of my time is taken up with revision. Or at least, attempting to revise anyway.**

**Also, I was slightly depressed after 1x13. We need the writers back! I seriously cannot wait for more CB action.**

**Anyway, this chapter is longer to make up for the wait so I hope you all like it.**

**Oh, and don't forget to review if you can. I'd really appreciate it.**

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Poison Ivy

He takes the teacup, with an air of suspicion, taking a small sip before grimacing. She rolls her eyes and picks up her own.

"Thank you, Dorota. You may be excused now."

As the maid leaves, he hastily sets the teacup down. "Got anything stronger, Waldorf?"

Her eyes widen, incredulous that anyone should _dare_ to question her plans. She places her teacup down, next to his. Both are identical. Both beautiful, expensive pieces of china with intricate designs. Both so easily broken.

She inhales deeply, as if gathering all her energy to fully admonish him. "In just under four hours, we will be attending the most important mixer of our lives. You are _not _going to arrive in your usual drunken state, Bass. You need to be fully sober to take care of the Yale rep. At least until it's polite for you to leave him in my care, of course."

The reprimand is swiftly followed by a sweet smile. The smile that indicates she's in control. He knows that smile well and, usually, encourages it. But not when it's directed towards him. He was _Chuck Bass_. He would not, _could not, _be controlled.

He rises from his seat; her dark eyes tracking him as he bends to pull open a familiar cabinet door.

"Chuck." She's on her feet now. Hands determinedly on hips. Small, crimson lips tightly pursed.

He ignores her, twisting two glass tumblers from the cabinet and fumbling for the bottles of scotch and gin to accompany them. Moments later, he presents her with a tumbler. He knows better than to be deterred by her angry appearance. In fact, he knows better than to believe appearances. Especially hers.

"Take it. Nothing can substitute for Dutch courage." His thin lips quirk upwards into a smirk as her one raised eyebrow lowers slightly. The challenge has been openly declared now. Her eyes flicker from his smug features to the glass of gin. He knows she is trying to calculate whether it is more improper to refuse or to accept. For once, he has beaten her. And she knows it. She hardly ever surrenders, to anyone, so he savors every small victory. She snatches the drink from his hand and falls into her seat with a pout. He strides across the room to join her.

"You remembered." He freezes mid-sip at her softly-spoken words. Her voice is quiet, but almost accusative. He hastens his pace to retake his seat opposite her, inclining his neck slightly in an attempt to catch her gaze. This time, however, she has beaten him. Her eyes remain intently trained on the transparent liquid.

He wonders what she is thinking. If she, like him, is drowning in memories.

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_It's his twelf__th birthday and he's at her door. __Soaking wet. __His face damp with a mixture of tears and salty New York rainwater. Drips fall onto the ivory flooring. He's always ruining her perfection. _

_The maid lets him in, looking him up and down with the protective glare of a mother. She doesn't like him. He doesn't blame her. Not many people do._

_Blair comes running down the stairs as the maid reluctantly announces his presence with a shout__. Her thin limbs jut out awkwardly from beneath __her white dress as she dashes down to meet him. Over the past few months, he's noticed, she's developed womanly curves and her face has lost its childlike roundness. He wonders if Nathaniel has noticed this._

_"Chuck! What are you doing here? Dinner with Bart not go to plan?"_

_Concern is not an emotion she expresses often, but tonight is one of the rare examples. He looks down, suddenly fascinated by the flooring. He knows she hates surprises._

_"What do you think?" His response is enigmatic and dark and all the things he tries to be. He learned long ago that he can't pull off the golden boy act, so he settles for his own brand of charm. Danger and darkness hiding vulnerability._

_She smiles slightly, unsure of how to comfort him, hearing the tinge of defeat in his voice. Defeat was another unfamiliar emotion to them both. After a moment, he steps uncertainly towards her, opening his arms to enfold her small frame into a hug. She hesitates, eyes flicking over his sodden clothing, before stretching out her own arms quickly._

_When they __move apart, he glances down at her dress, now somewhat gray from pressing against his coat. She turns her head upwards to his, a mischievous smile flooding over her face."Eleanor and Harold are out. I think we need a drink."_

_They've called their parents by their first names for as long as they can remember. At least, amongst themselves if not to their faces. And they've known how to find the scotch for almost as long. _

_Soon, they're upstairs in her room with a stash of glass bottles from the cabinet downstairs. They're trying a swig from each one. Matching each other drink for drink._

_"That was pointless." He slurs, as she stumbles onto her bed, tottering delicately on her heels. "I like Scotch best, anyway."_

_She giggles lightly, kicking off the shoes and rolling over. He ducks to avoid a Louboutin and lurches onto the bed beside her. She buries her head in his chest, conv__ulsed in laughter as he sniggers along dutifully. "I like this stuff." She declares, thrusting the bottle into the air and peering at the label. __"Gin."_

_Unsteadily, she climbs to her knees and holds up a hand for silence. Too intoxicated to argue, he chokes back his snorts and waits._

_"From now on," She announces resolutely, "when we drink together, you will drink scotch and I will drink gin."_

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He takes a sip, and so does she. Matching each other sip for sip. Finally, she meets his gaze and smiles.

"So, I take it you've organized the charity guest for later?"

"I said I would, Waldorf."

She sighs serenely, and he risks a smile at her over the curved rim of his tumbler. She begins to giggle and soon the laughter is shared by both of them and they're back in her bedroom five years ago.

"She's finally going to get what she deserves. I have to admit, I couldn't have done it without you, Bass." She accepts grudgingly, once the laughter has died on their lips, and they fall perilously close to silence.

"Of course not, you'll always be an amateur compared to me." He teases, leaning further towards her.

"Maybe that's just what I want you to think," She shoots back, reclining back into her seat to redress the gap between them, feeling his gaze upon her intensify. "Now, you need to leave so I can start preparations for the mixer. Everything has to be _perfect_."

There's a sharp_ clang _as the glass of the tumbler hits the table and the blunt _clicks _of her heels on the marble.

"Pick you up at six?" He asks, bending to press the button for the elevator.

"Sharp!"


End file.
